


Those that lie in the lake

by bloodycheeze



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Angst, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, M/M, Mutual Pining, Separations, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:07:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27661103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodycheeze/pseuds/bloodycheeze
Summary: Magic isn't real.That is what George's older brother, Wilbur, always tells him.The glowing lake in front of George seems to tell him otherwise though.The boy he meets there proves to be even more enchanting.//Previously titled "A Purple Dream"
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 40





	1. Origins pt. 1

**Author's Note:**

> hellooo this is one of my first attempts at writing a fanfic
> 
> the drill is still the same though, if any of the involved cc's report that they are uncomfortable with fanfiction, I will be taking it down.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it tho :]  
> -  
> -  
> -  
> -  
> also I'll be updating the tags as I go along

**10 years old**

George’s eyes wander the surface of the serene lagoon. Surely whatever he just saw was just a figment of his imagination. _Magic doesn’t exist_ , the voice in his head tells him. The voice doesn’t sound like his own, it sounds like his brother’s, Wilbur. Will turned 11 a few months ago and is thus infinitely wiser than George could even imagine being. So George believes his brother.

__

_Magic doesn’t exist George. Just stop imagining things_ .

George blinks a few times.

__

_Lagoons don’t actually glow George_ .

He repeats it in his head like a mantra, his eyes squeezed shut like it would make any difference at all. _Lakes don’t glow, lakes.. do not glow, they… don’t… glow?_

And yet no matter how many times George opens and closes his eyes, no matter how many times he

repeats the mantra, the lake still glows a bright blue.

George can think of only one logical thing to do, go into the lake. And so, without any logic at hand, George walks into the lake, fully clothed. 

__

_It’s surprisingly warm_ , he thinks to himself, as he walks down to the middle of the lake. The water lies shallow, never rising above his waist. George simply stands there, amazed by the fact that the blue light had only gotten brighter the closer he had gotten to it. The light comes from the bottom of the lake, he bends down and extends his hand and..

“STOP!”

Immediately George withdraws his hand and looks around bewildered. The lake is surrounded by woodlands, the entire scenery is highlighted by only the vague and ghostly light reflected by the moon. He squints his eyes, trying to find the source of the yell, but he sees none. George shrugs to himself, figures it’s probably time to head home. _Maybe mom will want to hear about the glowing lake_. 

The branches of the trees rustle ever so slightly in the wind, the moonlight barely breaks through, and George shivers; he might not be alone in these woods. With each rustle he turns around to see if he’s being followed. His paces become bigger, he starts sprinting, praying he can get out of these woods alive. George looks behind himself, there’s no one there. He looks again. And again. And suddenly, while being much too focused on what was behind him, George runs into something else, or rather, someone else.

“What the hell?”, the kid curses. 

George scrambles off the kid quickly, offering a hand to help the other up.

But the kid swats his hand away and gets up on his own, dusts his clothes off and rubs his head, all the while inspecting George.

George inspects him too. The boy’s hair was a light brown and he had freckles that painted the skin around his light eyes. George is colour-blind, but he guesses the colour of the boy’s cloak was likely red, the colour that stood for the royalty of the kingdom next to his own, Woodhaerst. So this kid was probably a prince, or maybe the son of a duke, George isn’t sure, but he also isn’t sure he even cares in the first place.

“Should’ve watched where you were going huh?”, the boy suddenly asked, slightly bemused. 

George immediately turns red and just nods, mumbling out a soft apology. 

“It’s all cool,” the boy nods, “The name’s Clay,” and he extends a hand over to George.

__

_I’ve heard this voice before._

George smiles weakly and shakes the boy’s hand. “My name’s George.” Short but concise, George figures.

“You’re wearing blue,” a pause, “Can I safely assume you’re from Aerilon?”

George barely listens to what the boy, _Clay_ , says. He recognises the voice, but he just can’t figure out from where. _STOP!_

“You’re- you’re the one w-who yelled at me by the lake,” George stumbles over his words from how fast he’s trying to talk.

__

_STOP!_

Clay grins at him, not necessarily in a condescending way, but it sure didn’t feel like a genuine smile.

“Why?”

And Clay opens his mouth to answer, when he gets interrupted by another boy suddenly clamping to him from behind.

He twirls around and looks at the boy, before enveloping him into a tight hug.

George just stands there as the two boys, who were obviously familiar with each other, whisper unspoken words to one another.

They stand there for what feels like an hour, it could have been 30 seconds, George’s perception of time seemed a bit messed up, but the two boys finally broke apart. The older boy, _Clay, just remember his name George_ , looks at George again.

“This is my younger brother, Nick, and we’re from Woodhaerst, but we can’t seem to find our way back.”

“I figured you were from there,” George gestures vaguely to their clothing. “With the red and all.”

The boy, _Clay, the name is not that hard_ , was polite. Much too polite for a boy his age. There were only two possible explanations, either the boy’s clothes, _Clay’s clothes_ , were red from blood, or.. 

“You’re the prince,” he rushes out.

“Yes, yes I am.”

“Clay I want to go home..” the other boy murmured out softly.

The freckled boy looks up to George and pleads an unspoken question.

“Follow me,” George speaks and turns to walk towards his home.

His home is the castle of Aerilon. George walks in easily, used to the walls that were surrounding him, the two boys right behind him. He walks easily through the halls, after all, he’s lived in this castle his entire life. George glances over his shoulder every now and then and has to stifle a smile when he sees that the older boy, _he’s still called Clay_ , is carrying his younger brother on his back. His breath is steady, but heavy. _STOP!_ But the boy shows no signs of stopping, so George doesn’t stop either. They turn one last corner and arrive at a door. It wasn’t a grand door, it wasn’t painted a specific colour, just a normal wooden door. George knocks once, then twice, subconsciously he straightens out his hair and cloak and he knocks again when finally, someone on the other side opens the door.

“Come in.”

George happily rushes in, having not seen his mother all day. He hugs her excitedly. His mother quickly notices the two lost boys in the entrance of the door, one sleeping on the back of the other.

“George, dear, who are your friends? Why aren’t they home?”

The oldest boy places his brother on the ground, whose face is slightly disgruntled from the coldness of the floor, but his sleep remains. 

“Good evening, your Majesty,” the boy bows as he speaks, “We come from Woodhaerst, we were here on a visit, but ended up being lost in your woods. Your son found us.” He speaks with a soft,

polite tone to the Queen, in a much too similar way he spoke to George.

“Are you from the castle of Woodhaerst?”, George’s mother questions again.

“Yes, your Majesty. I am prince Clayton, first in line for the throne. This is my brother, Nicholas, second in line for the throne.”

“Very well then, I’ll have a maid get a room ready so the two of you can rest before heading back to your home,” and with that, his mother left.

__

_STOP!_

George winces at his own thoughts. He hopes the other prince didn’t notice. He did. He, _Clay, come on here George_ , was looking bemusedly at George, before bursting out in barely audible laughter. His laugh is contagious, and though George didn’t want to, he found himself laughing with the other boy 

over quite literally nothing. 

“Follow me now, prince,” a maid speaks from the other side of the open door. The boy sighs and walks over to pick his brother up again.

George stops himself and picks up the younger brother himself. “It’s okay,” he mouths to the boy, who just returns a weak smile.

The guest room, George finds out, is really only for guests, and he is almost immediately brought to his own room, and tucked into his own bed. The moon still casts a dim light, Georges notes as he looks outside for a second, before drifting off into a sleep like no other.


	2. Origins pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clay befriends George.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta-ed by 5 different people so im hoping there's not spelling mistakes this time around :] This chapter is still a little bit of world building, since the characters are still kids anyways and there's no real depth yet ,, but I promise it'll come soon! ALSO this is Dream's POV, probably not gonna be switching a lot more between POVs but who knows, at least the next few chapters will be George's POV :)

**10 years old pt. 2**

Aerilon is different from Woodhaerst in ways that Clay quite frankly had never noticed. Woodhaerst is surrounded by thick, dark forests, which can bring calm to the mind, or instant uneasiness. Clay had always disliked the woods. He would never care to admit it, but he has always feared the dark, and the eerie forest simply enhances that feeling. 

Aerilon, on the other hand, lays on the edge of a cliff, at the top of a waterfall. On the bottom of that waterfall lies a blue lake.

The lake has many names, the blue lagoon, the serene lagoon, some even call it the crystal lake. It is a lake that holds magic, at least according to the people from Woodhaerst; the people from Aerilon don’t generally believe in magic.

Clay thinks it’s a shame. The kingdom of Aerilon is quite possibly the most magical kingdom of all and yet its citizens have no idea of its wonders, though it is so obvious when you start paying attention to it.

It’s in the small details, like the way the wind sings, or the way the sun smiles just a little brighter over the kingdom of Aerilon. 

He thinks that George sees it as well. He sees the wonder in George’s eyes. In the past few days, Clay and Nick have been staying in Aerilon awaiting their parents' arrival for a safe trip home and have in the meantime gotten to know their neighbouring kingdom and its royalty.

George is shy, or at least quiet, Clay notices. And despite their obvious differences in character and George showing limited interest, Clay is intrigued. So like any other kid would do if they wanted a new friend, Clay just walks up to George, and asks to play.

“Uh.. me?”

“Yeah you, dummy. Who else would I be talking to?”

George looks around and shrugs.

“There’s no one else around, George, yes I’m talking to you and I’m bored so please feel free to entertain me.”

“What would you want to play?”

Clay has one favourite game, no matter how many times he plays it, it never loses its appeal. He’d gotten good at it the past few years too.

“Play knight!”

And so, after carefully crafting two swords out of twigs, the two stood opposite of each other.

George plays defensively, while Clay uses more offensive tactics. His sword swooshes, left and right, up and then under. George manages to block his every attack, but has yet to charge for himself.

Clay doesn’t feel like giving him that chance. So while he’s pushing down George who is desperately blocking, Clay swings his sword back and attacks with everything he’s got, causing George to stumble down completely. He looks completely and utterly bewildered as he clutches his sword to his chest. Clay bursts out in laughter.

“No fair! You gave me literally no chance to do anything..” George murmurs, cheeks dusted red from embarrassment. 

It’s almost sunset, and golden rays of sunshine cover the floor for as far Clay can see. It catches him somewhat off guard. The sun never seems to shine a sweet golden liquid back home. Clay basks in the light, closes his eyes for a split second, until he remembers where exactly he stood.

His eyes shift back down to George, who is still sitting on the ground in an awkward position. _This kid,_ Clay laughs to himself, _this kid is going to be my new friend for sure_. He extends his hand out, waiting for George to grab it. He does. Clay hoists him up, which is considerably easier than he had expected.

“Do they even feed you? You’re as light as a feather!” Clay exclaims.

George just laughs it off awkwardly, Clay doesn’t even notice the change in atmosphere as he starts to ramble on about the best techniques to play knight, because yes apparently there are many, until George grabs his arm.

Clay looks back at him slightly alarmed.

“Do you hear it too?” 

“What?”

“Do you hear _it_ too?” George emphasizes.

“George do I hear _what_?”

“The way the wind cries, Clay, the way it calls your name,” George whispers. He sounds vulnerable, insecure. 

And in fact, yes, Clay did hear the way the wind calls his name, but to him, the wind didn’t cry. It sang a melody of nature and of magic, a melody so soothing it could rock him to sleep right on the spot. 

“I hear it call out my name,” he starts out slowly.

“Are you as scared by it as I am?” 

“No, no I don’t think I am”, Clay whispers faintly.

George doesn’t reply immediately. He looks through the sky, likes he’s trying to find something, anything. He takes a deep breath.

“What was in the lake?”

George is shy, and quiet, but not when he wants something, Clay notices, and George wants answers. He looks confused and lost, and Clay just wants to see his new friend happy.

“I’m not too sure, but in my kingdom, there are many legends about it.”

“Like what?”

“Like, uh… like it could be Excalibur, you know, King Arthur’s sword, others believe it’s a holy book and some even believe it’s like a spirit. No one really knows, but mom told me that it’s sacred and should never be touched by a.. uh,” Clay stops his rambling.

“By a what?”

“By an Aerilonian.”

“Why?”

Clay snorts softly. George tilts his head.

“You ask so many questions, Gorgie”

“That’s because- wait WHAT did you just call me?”

“Gorgie, it’s sweet, isn’t it? Just like you!”

“I am 3 months older than you, you are not allowed to call me sweet,” George pouts.

Clay is sure he looks much too delighted, but he loves it. _Gorgie is really my new friend_. 

“Nick! The carriage is outside! Don’t make mom and dad wait for us!”

No one answers. So Clay wanders out in the halls and calls out again. _Think like your brother, Clay, where would he go?_ And really, there was only one place Nick could be in any situation.

Clay had walked these halls many times the past few days in broad daylight. Now it’s evening, practically night, and the only sources of light are dim and smoky candles. It looks spooky. Clay’s heart may or may not be thumping in his chest, his breath may or may not be speeding up and he himself may or may not be practically running in halls that definitely should not be run in.

The halls are starting to smell of spices and different aromas and Clay knows he’s finally almost where he needs to be. He barges into the kitchen area and finds Nick sitting at one of the counters, happily munching on a cookie one of the cooks had probably given him. He notices his older brother immediately and smiles brightly, putting his arms up.

Clay envelops him in a hug, his heartbeat finally slowing down and softly lifts Nick off the counter and onto the ground.

“Mom and dad are waiting by the gate, Nickie”

Nick nods, grabs one of Clay’s hands and start pulling him back into ghostly halls.

At the gate stands no mom and dad, no King and Queen of Woodhaerst, there stands only a carriage. A disappointing feeling, but Clay knows this shouldn’t feel surprising anymore. Still feels shitty though.

He hears a cough behind him and immediately straightens himself up. He turns around to see George standing there, with the Queen behind him. He bows to her and bids his farewell. Then Clay turns back to George. 

George looks awkwardly at him, before pulling Clay into a tight hug. 

Clay manages to barely whisper out a goodbye, before stepping into the carriage and closing the door.

The carriage starts moving. Clay can hear hooves clang loudly against the stone road beneath them. A silvery light gleams through the tiny windowsill. A soft breeze brushes his skin. Clay isn’t one look to look over his shoulder, but today he makes an exception. He vaguely registers George walking with his mom back into the safety of their castle. Then there’s only hollow darkness.

_My Gorgie._


	3. Lanterns and snowflakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clay and Nick come to Aerilon for the annual festival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A third chapter oh my gooodd, and its a long one >:)
> 
> it's been beta-ed, so I'm hoping there arent any mistakes :)  
> This is only a part one, probably of two or three, these will definitely help further the story in terms of plot and not only world building

**15 years old**

Wilbur tightens the cloak around George’s body once more. George finds it somewhat annoying. He’s close to adulthood, surely he can dress himself, but Wilbur seems to disagree with that statement. 

So while Wilbur is trying to take care of his little brother, George simply stares through the window. It’s tranquil outside, snow flurries down from the skies at a slow pace. The wind is only faint, making the snowflakes deviate ever so slightly from their path to Earth. It appears the snowflakes are dancing to a melody that George can’t hear through the walls. It makes for a beautiful, but sombre scene. He vaguely registers Wilbur pulling up his hood and he’s about to tell his brother off for babying him as a mother would, when Wilbur already pulls him out of his train of thought. 

“C’mon Gogy, any longer and we’ll be late for the festival.”

Right. The festival. The festival is an annual celebration that marks the end of an endless war that had been going on between the kingdom of Woodhaerst and that of Aerilon. Since then, every year again, the two populations would gather in enormous crowds and release lanterns in memory of those who had lost their lives in the battles. George didn’t really know why there had been a war to begin with, the only reason he really cared about the festival was that the night sky would be lit up beautifully by lanterns of many different colours and shapes. It always looked enchanting. 

This year the royal court of Woodhaerst would make an appearance in Aerilon, so that the two kings and queens could release their lanterns together. _Symbolic for their eternal alliance,_ was what Wilbur had called it. For George it only meant one thing; Clay and Nick would be coming over.

And George is excited to see them, he really is, but he’s also nervous. Wilbur had taken notice of this, because of course he had, and had taken George outside.

The two princes end up walking through their kingdom. Some commoners greet them, offer them food and something to drink, but Wilbur refuses every time and keeps on strolling straight ahead. George obediently follows him, offering a shy wave to some bystanders.

After walking through small paths and corridors, Wilbur and George arrive at a park that is bustling with people, roaring with voices. This particular park is where many commoners design and buy their own lanterns to release at the festival. While Wilbur continues walking a steady pace, George finds himself admiring different lanterns. He never gets to choose his own lantern, the amount of choice is overwhelming though and because of that, George is sure he wouldn’t be able to choose one regardless. On one of the market stands lays a white lantern with an interesting scene painted on it. There stand three people, two opposing one. The one is surrounded by fire, while the opposing two are drawing their swords defensively. George is about to inspect it closer when Wilbur calls for him.

“George, come here!”

George looks around to find the source of his brother’s voice, and he finds him standing close to the edge of the park. Wilbur’s holding two blue, but other than that blank, lanterns. George comes closer and gets handed the slightly smaller, but brighter lantern. 

“I had Eret prepare these for us,” Wilbur beamed.

“Where did you wish to release them?”

Wilbur visibly hesitates. He scans the area quickly. His eyes light up slightly and nods to his left.

George looks where his brother was nodding. A large group of people are gathered together, every single one of them is holding their own brightly coloured lantern. George can hear them counting down. It reminds him of a ticking time bomb. 

He understands what Wilbur means with his nod.

The two princes easily mingle themselves with the crowd. George enthusiastically starts counting down with them.

“10”

Suddenly George thinks of Clay.

“9”

His fluffy hair and stupid grin.

“8”

Maybe Clay had grown even bigger this year. Maybe the twinkle in his eyes had gotten even brighter.

“6”

Maybe his voice had dropped even deeper.

“4”

George has to contain himself of smiling too widely at the thought of Clay.

“3”

Clay is almost here.

“2”

He’s right around the corner, George can feel it.

“1”

George lifts his arms up higher.

“0”

He releases the lantern with the rest of the crowd. He stares at the colourful lanterns scattering in the sky, slowly drifting where the wind takes them.

“Magic,” George whispers softly to himself. He feels a hand on his shoulder and looks to see his brother looking at him with a certain sadness in his eyes.

“Magic doesn’t exist, George,” Wilbur states solemnly. He only ever uses George’s full name when he’s serious. And George doesn’t agree with his statement but nods nonetheless, because that’s what he’s expected to do. He doesn’t want to create any problems right now and he sure as hell doesn’t feel like talking about this, but Wilbur speaks up again.

“You don’t still... believe in magic.. right Gogy?”

Wilbur almost sounds desperate. George doesn’t want him to feel that way, he doesn’t want to disappoint his brother. So instead of telling the truth, he smiles and shakes his head.

“No, of course, I don’t.” _I do._

Wilbur nods contently, like he’s relieved in a way that George doesn’t still believe in something only children have faith in.

A gust of wind makes George’s hood fly off. His head involuntarily moves the way the wind did. It’s like the wind whispers softly to him, and only to him. It’s telling him to look. Look a bit more to the left. _Look better_. He runs a hand through his hair to keep it out of his face, when suddenly he knows he’s looking where he needs to be looking. 

A red figure is staring directly at him. Light hair and a grin so bright it could blind. A guard is standing defensively to their side, looking around for anything that might try to hurt the treasure he’s guarding. The figure waves at him. George can’t immediately react, he’s frozen in place for a split second. George can feel his own legs are starting to move, he’s sprinting towards him. He doesn’t stop right before the figure, no, instead, George crashes right into him and embraces him more tightly than he ever had. 

“Hello Clay,” George murmurs softly.

Clay’s arms envelop George’s entire body. _Hello George_. It feels warm and safe and for a moment George forgets they are in the public as he clings to his best friend’s body. 

What was forgotten, was soon remembered and George quickly pulls out of the hug again. Rumours would be created if any commoners realised that it was them, the two princes hugging like their lives depended on it. George’s face burns a bright red, he knows by how hot he feels. Before he can regain his posture, a second body is launched into him. 

“Hi George! Long time no see!” Nick exclaimed loudly.

Nick is immediately shushed by Clay, who clearly did not want to attract any more attention than needed right now. George hugs Nick back, Nick is now only smaller than him by a bit and George is sure that soon, hugging Nick would require some serious tiptoeing. Nick had always been physically very affectionate and didn’t show any signs of stopping the hug anytime soon. So George looks at Clay. He shoots him a soft smile.

“Have you been well?” He tries shyly.

“We’re good, excited for experiencing the festival here,” Clay gestures. “You? Are you- are you well?”

George nods immediately. Probably too quickly. Maybe Clay can sense that he’s nervous.

“Yes, never been better!” he tries to cover up his nerves, he really does, but his voice is shaky nonetheless. Either Clay doesn’t notice, or he simply doesn’t comment on it. Clay’s gaze shifts from their guard standing only a few meters away, to the streets.

“Nickie, perhaps we should go somewhere that is less out in the open,” Clay whispers mischievously.

Nick’s head shoots up immediately and releases his hold on George as Clay starts walking, running ahead, George releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

George stands still for a second too long, falling behind a little too far for Nick’s liking, so Nick grabs George’s hand and pulls him along. It is only at this point that George understands their plan. They’re ditching the guard.

This is quite possibly the only time George will ever be thankful he’s smaller than the average person, as he can easily pass most people on the street, while Clay is visibly struggling more to get through the crowds. Behind him, he can hear a yell and George briefly looks behind him, only to see the guard closer to him than he had anticipated. He starts running a bit faster, turning a corner, then another, when he’s pulled into a small bystreet. His instinct is to yell, but a hand covers his mouth and another lifts his chin lightly. His eyes meet green emerald eyes and immediately George relaxes. Clay gestures for him to stay silent for a moment longer, while Nick is still gasping for air silently, either from laughing or running, George can’t really tell.

“Did we, uhm, did we manage to lose him?” George inquires softly.

“I think we did,” Clay laughs as he drops himself to the floor.

“This is quite possibly the most courageous thing I’ve done in my entire life,” George whispers, more to himself than anyone else.

“So you’re only getting action when I’m around, huh?”

The remark makes George unnecessarily flustered and he rubs his arm self consciously as he’s trying to think of a come back. Maybe Nick notices how uneasy George is feeling, or maybe he just likes talking, but Nick changes the subject with ease.

“Last year,” Nick starts, “I actually rode a horse for the first time.”

“How was that?” George enjoys horseback riding himself, but he remembers falling off a great deal when he just began learning about riding.

“Literally amazing. It is so freeing to be able to sit on an animal and let it take you wherever you need to be and have it listen to you and I actually got my own horse, named it Panda because it’s coloured black and white and-“ George can see Nick’s face light up when he’s talking about his own horse, it’s incredibly endearing. He continues to listen attentively to every detail Nick has to tell him about horses. He feels his gaze drift to Clay every once in a while. _What are you looking at, George?_

“And when Clay tried it, he fell off immediately!” Nick bursts out in laughter as Clay shoots him a dirty look.

“That was a horse gone berserk and you know it..” Clay tries to defend himself.

Nick turns back to George and tries to explain.

“When I rode the horse, I had no difficulty at all, so then Clay started brag- bragging about how horseback riding is easy anyways so I told him to get on one of the horses but literally after five minutes he fell- he actually fell off,” Nick is wheezing at this point, having difficulty keeping enough air in his lungs.

The almighty Clay, who is usually good at everything he tries, can’t even sit on a horse for a couple of minutes. The irony makes George laugh loudly.

Clay looks to George with an almost hurt look in his eyes.

“Clay normally you’re so good at everything, how did you even-“

“It was a ROGUE HORSE,” Clay opposes again.

“It most definitely was just a normal horse,” Nick mutters. He looks up to see Clay looking faux-angry at him. Nick squeals and starts running away from Clay, darting through the busy streets.

“George! Help! My brother’s going to kill me!”

“Not my problem Nickie~” George singsongs, as he watches Clay try to catch Nick as they’re disappearing deeper and deeper into the town. George slowly follows their trail of screams. The screaming sounds high pitched, meaning it certainly stems from Nick, which is logical, as George soon finds that Clay’s got Nick pinned against the cobbled floor and shoving snow into his face.

“This is what you get for disrespecting me,” Clay hoots in a playful voice.

George decides to help Nick, Clay was clearly much too strong. George didn’t take the fact that Clay was also much stronger than him into consideration. So George pushes Clay off of Nick and onto the floor, but Clay overpowers him easily and pulls his hands down. Clay is leaning over George. Their faces are so close together that George can feel Clay’s breath hit his cheek. His body feels like it’s on fire, a stark contrast against the cold snow in his back. Clay’s eyes are searching his. George braces himself.

“Do you yield?”

George didn’t know what exactly he was expecting, but it definitely wasn’t that, but he feels relief wash over him.

“Yes, I yield.”

“So you admit I’m stronger than you?”

_You are_. “No.”

Clay tightens his grip around George’s wrist.

“Fine! Yes! Yes, Clay, you’re stronger than me.. obviously.” George rolls his eyes, Clay’s cockiness is close to unbearable.

But Clay seems to be content with George’s answer and finally releases George. He stands up, pulling George up with him. George looks at Clay, and notices that his cloak and hair are covered entirely in snow. He lifts his hand to ruffle the snow out of Clay’s hair and only then notices just how much his hands are shaking. He sees that Nick doesn’t look all too hot right now.

“Let’s go to the castle before any of us catch a cold,” George suggests.

The walk back is silent, but far from uncomfortable. Any tension that George had experienced earlier today had finally left his body and he felt at peace, a calmness finally washing over his body.

Little did he know it was the calm before the storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to my love and friends for helping me write this <3


	4. A crossbow and an arrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The queen of Woodhaerst is shot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After like three weeks i offer a chapter and its a holiday so I'm hoping i can give you guys even more chapters!
> 
> There's a trigger warning for blood and panic attacks, so please do be careful with reading should either of those themes bother you. If I'm not back before Christmas, merry Christmas everyone :)

It all happens so fast.

That night, dinner starts out easy. George sits to the right of Wilbur, who sits to the right of their father. A couple seats down is where Clay and Nick are speaking silently to one another, unwilling to the disturb the ambiance that had settled over the large table.

Then the door is slammed open.

Everyone turns their head towards the distraction.

The person is standing still in the doorway, holding a crossbow, ready to fire.

Before anyone can react, before anyone even realises what’s about to happen, it happens.

.

.

.

In the past, the people of Aerilon and Woodhaerst had never gotten along.

These arguments only stopped once the current monarchs all gathered and signed a peace treaty.

The people weren’t necessarily happy, riots happened every so often, but soon everything started settling down. The two kingdoms had established an agreeableness.

But there is always an exception.

.

.

.

The queen of Woodhaerst lays still on the cold hard floor, a dark liquid pooling around her unmoving body and staining her already brown dress. George can’t find the will in his body to move, as he lifelessly slants against one of the pillars. The king of Woodhaerst immediately calls for knights to seize the evildoer.

But the person in the doorway is long gone

A medic desperately tries to stop the consistent blood loss the queen is suffering, checking her pulse in the process. But after what feels like hours, the medic stands up and regrettably shakes his head.

A woman wails, a man slams his fist against the table. George doesn’t pick up on much after that. The voices and noises start to become white background noise, as his ears start ringing. He slides down the pillar until he is sitting on the ground, knees clutched to his chest. Is he even breathing properly anymore? George doesn’t really know.

A sudden movement near him pulls George out of his trance. He catches a figure slipping out of the same doorway the person, _no that wasn’t just an ordinary person,_ the killer had escaped through. He only needs a split second to know who had just ran out. So George sighs. He gathers himself. He gets up and starts running the same way he saw Nick running to.

George looks around down all the halls, whisper-yelling for Nick. He catches up to the smaller boy close to the entrance of the castle. Nick’s gasping for air, standing bent over, as he’s frantically pointing to the door, whisper wheezing a name George would recognise out of thousands.

“Clay,” Nick gasps again, “Please George, Clay is out there.”

And that’s all George needs to know.

He bursts through one of the doors, the cold air immediately hitting his face, his body sending a shiver all over. Clay is no where to be seen, not even a sign of him. The wind is howling in his ears, loudly, screaming an unpleasant symphony and George’s heart sinks for a hot minute. _If Clay is out there, and if the killer is out there_.. well he doesn’t really want to think about what could happen if the two encounter each other.

George hurries himself along towards one of the stalls, quickly saddles a horse and lets it take him into the darkness of the night. The streets are quiet, almost eerily so, the only thing disturbing the peace are his horse’s hooves and his ragged breathing.

His horse takes him to the gate of the city walls soon enough, but remains still at a crossroads.

The road to the left would take him almost directly to Woodhaerst, into packed, mysterious woods filled with who knows what, while the right road would take him to woods that he knew like the back of his hand. He doesn’t know where Clay would have gone, where the killer would have gone. He doesn’t know if the killer was from Woodhaerst or from Aerilon, whether they’d go to familiar or unfamiliar grounds.

George needs silence to think and there would be silence if the wind would control itself. If it would stop howling for one _goddamn_ minute. But George, of course, is no sorcerer. The wind wouldn’t abide him no matter how hard he tried. No matter how much he begged. The wind keeps on howling loudly, it scares him to his core and George lets out a soft whimper, as he realises that he really has no idea what he can do for Clay right now.

He’s about to turn back, about to tug on the reins, when the wind suddenly sings a clear song. George sits up right abruptly and listens intently. He tilts his head towards the night sky and closes his eyes, focusing all his senses on understanding the foreign sound.

It’s not made up of words that George can literally translate, he’s not sure the song is made out of words to begin with. But it courses through his body, through his lungs and through his veins to his heart and ultimately his core, his soul. It envelops his entire being and suddenly, George understands the meaning of the song.

He chooses to go right and there’s not a bone in his body that doubts his decision.

.

.

.

Sometimes George would go to the lake to clear his mind. To just stare at the lake until all his worries had subsided. The lake, at these times, would be calm, only small waves would hit the shore, if they did at all. The wind would lay quiet, as if it understood George needed to be able to hear his own thoughts.

Other times he would go to the lake hoping to find a new rock to add to his growing collection, preferably a glowing one. Or a round one. Maybe a weird hexagon. Preferably a unique one, but George would be lying if he said none of his rocks looked alike.

But most times, George would come to the lake to try and figure out why it shone a bright blue at times. He had never truly gotten an answer, had never even come close to getting an answer, but he still tried. Each time, he would swim to the middle of the lake, hoping it would light up again. Each time again he was reminded that this was the exact place he had met Clay and Nick. This was the place where Clay spoke his first words to him. The words that echoed through him even weeks after Clay and Nick had returned to their own home.

George had never hoped he would have needed to go to the lake to find his possibly dead best friend. 

.

.

.

But there was truly no time to think about that. He rushes his horse down winding roads and pathways, deeper and deeper into the forest. The night sky is clear, stars decorating the otherwise black nothingness, but more and more branches and leaves started to cover up this scenic sight. George knows he is getting close. His anxiety grows with every tap the hooves beneath him make, his chest is tight and any air that enters his lungs is expelled almost immediately in a painful way.

Finally he sees he is where he needs to be. George halts the horse and sprints past the last couple of trees. The lake he usually knows to be tranquil, lays disturbed. Rippled water and moderate waves crash on the shore. George’s eyes flicker towards the middle of the lake. It’s dark, there’s no glow this time around, but if he could recognise Clay in a crowd with over a hundred people, then spotting him in a lake with no one else around is a piece of cake.

“Clay!”

No response.

“Clay, can you hear me?” he yells again.

The water splashing is the only response he gets.

George needs not another second to think and rushes into the water. All that time spent at the lake puts George at an advantage. He knows exactly how to get to the middle quickest, launching himself from a particular rock to another as he struggles to catch up on Clay.

Clay whips his head around at the commotion behind him. He frantically shakes his head no, splashes water around him and turns back to continue his trail towards the middle of the lake.

George takes another step, then another and another and is finally within touching distance of Clay.

“Clay,” Clay’s breath is heavy and unsteady, his chest is heaving up and down, he’s still turned away from George.

“Clay please look at me,” but there’s still no response and George grows impatient. He grabs Clay’s wrists and turns him towards him. Clay reacts in a panicked manner, pulling back his arm and stumbling backwards, ultimately falling backwards into the water.

George can finally see Clay’s eyes, the lining of his face, his set jaw. The expression worries him deeply.

“Clay,” he starts, but he really has no idea what to say to him. Clay shows no reaction at all. He’s sitting still in the shallow water, breathing as if he’d been running for ten years straight.

“Clay may I- can I give you a hug?”

And finally, Clay slowly turns his head towards George, and gives a short, curd nod, before staring out in the distance once again. George approaches him carefully, crouches down next to him and lays his arms around him as comfortably as he can. Clay immediately buries his face in the crook of George’s neck, breathing in and out with shivers, clutching the back of his clothes. _He’s freezing_. George wants to move him out of the water, start a fire, get him back the castle, but he doesn’t dare break the fragile silence.

“My mom,” Clay softly cries out, “my mom is gone.”

And George can’t exactly counter that, he doesn’t have the words to comfort him either. So instead, he pulls Clay just a little tighter, shares his warmth with him, lets him cry for just a little longer, because once they’d return to the castle Clay would no longer be able to behave as any boy would.

He’d have to be a prince again.


	5. Eglantine roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The queen is buried.
> 
> George's relationship with Clay starts crumbling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the Christmas holiday and that means another update! i hope to release another chapter within a week, but i can make no promises..
> 
> The chapter mostly revolves around the queen's death, as well as her burial, should that make you uncomfortable please take care of yourself!

White chrysanthemums and pink carnations lay quietly on the casket.

George had never been to a burial before. He’s read about them. There were always many books in the library that discussed death and royal burials, but he’s never been so unlucky as to witness one. He’s read about the way people dress in black to reflect their inner emotions, the way the people left behind will say a soft, bittersweet eulogy. George knows people cry at funerals, their hearts filled with sorrow because they had to say a goodbye they weren’t ready for.

A gush of wind moves the flowers ever so slightly, but Nick is there to place them back to where they’re supposed to lay. He looks to his older brother, who simply nods back before staring back into the crowd solemnly. Funerals are for crying, but neither Clay nor Nick is crying. They’re standing still next to each other, hands folded together as they let everything anyone says to them wash over them like a cold shower.

An outdoors funeral was certainly an interesting choice, George thinks to himself. It’s freezing and there’s a small drizzle of snow. He shivers and reaches his hands up to his face to blow some warm air into them. It doesn’t help much.

George tries to listen more intently to the service, to the kind words that are spoken about the queen, but his mind drifts.

.

.

.

When George was seven, his brother found him crying on the library floor. For more than two hours, Wilbur could not get a sensical word out of him and George cried so loudly it was surprising no guards came pooling into the area.

Once the gates to his tears had closed and his cheeks started to dry, Wilbur asked again what happened.

“I don’t want mommy or daddy, or you, to leave me,” George had sobbed.

Wilbur had just sighed and pulled his little brother closer.

“We’re not going anywhere just yet, Gogy.”

.

.

.

A snap of the fingers right in front of his face pulls George back to reality. He looks to his right and sees Wilbur waiting for him with an extended arm, tapping his foot impatiently.

George follows his family to the front of the service, with each step approaching the casket. His father places a hand on the casket, casts a quick look inside and continues towards the king of Woodhaerst. They bow to each other as George’s father also speaks words of condolences. His mother does the same, so does Wilbur. But George doesn’t dare look inside, doesn’t dare face the dead and instead faces the living. He glances at Clay and tries to give him a reassuring smile, though George doubts the smile even reached his eyes. Clay simply looks back at him with an empty gaze. He looks to Nick. The boy looks small standing next to his gallant older brother. His eyes are watery and George doesn’t doubt that as soon as the crowd has dissipated Nick will burst out in tears. He nods to Nick as well, before continuing to the king.

-

George sits in the window sill in silence. Outside it’s clear, the sky has cleared up and the sun has broken through, rays of light reflecting harshly in George’s eyes. The trees stand still, their branches and leaves covered in a layer of white. Woodhaerst’s castle alone grows more trees than Aerilon does in its entire kingdom. It makes for a unique sight, but the thought of Aerilon makes George homesick. He can’t afford to be homesick right now, so he looks back into the room.

Nick lays on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He hadn’t been talking much since the burial. Clay is restless to say the least. He paces around his own room, occasionally dragging his hand through his hair, standing still for a moment, only to begin pacing again. It’s nerve wrecking. George’s eyes keep following his movements, left and right, then left again, then…

He stands up. Neither Clay nor Nick are bothered enough to look up and George leaves the room in silence. He closes the door behind him as silently as possible. For a moment George lets himself lean against the door and releases a breath he didn’t realise he had been holding. He walks through the empty halls, letting his hand trail across the cold stone wall. He turns a corner and finds a servant there, intently scrubbing the floor.

“Hi, I’m sorry but,” he doesn’t get to finish his sentence.

“Oh, your Royal Highness! I’m so sorry, you can just walk on by, it’s not a problem,” the girl smiles at him hesitantly as she presses herself against the wall to make room for George.

“It’s not that,” George answers, gesturing for her to just stand next to him, “I was wondering if you had any games that I could play?”

“Of course, of course, follow me, your Highness, we have a whole room full of games for the princes.”

And so, George follows her. The servant, George realises he doesn’t know her name, doesn’t speak a lot. She occasionally mumbles an ‘almost there’ or ‘just down here’ and that’s as far as communication goes.

Finally, she opens a door for him and leads to one singular room, stacked with toys and games in boxes. George stands still in the middle of the room, staring blankly at the shelves packed with stuff. It’s not just games or toys, it’s baby clothes and rattles, pacifiers and small little hats. George reaches for a particular hat. It’s painted an ugly yellow with a borderline psychotic smiley on it. _That definitely used to belong to Clay_.

“You can take anything you want, I’ll be out in the hall if you need anything,” the servant bows to him again.

“Thank you,” a beat of silence, “What was your name again?”

“Niki, your Highness.”

And she leaves out the door.

George reaches down for a box, dusty and old, stuffed away into a corner. The layer of dust covers the label of the box and George figures it’s a good idea to blow off the dust, instead of swiping it away. It ends in him having a small coughing fit. It wouldn’t have taken a genius to figure that would happen if he blows at some dust, but George chuckles to himself because of his own stupidity. It brightens his mood just a little bit. He lifts the top of the box to see what’s in it, to find a board with pieces he recognises all too well. He holds the box tight to his chest and starts to walk back to Clay’s chamber.

He doesn’t pass Niki again in the halls. George wonders where she left to.

When he walks through the door of Clay’s chamber again, the scene hadn’t changed much. Clay is still pacing around, mumbling to himself. Nick finally acknowledges him and stares in a curious manner at the box George holds in his hands.

“What’s that?”

George sits himself on the ground and starts placing the board and pieces on the ground.

“Have you ever played chess, Nickie?” George stifles a laugh to himself because of the nickname.

“Nope, I haven’t! Can you teach me?”

And George just pats on the ground across from him and Nick sits down. He explains the game thoroughly, what each piece is, how each piece can move, how to win, different strategies, but after his lengthy explanation, George can see Nick is a bit dazed.

“We’ll just play and I’ll teach you during,” he suggests and Nick nods enthusiastically.

The first few moves seem to be easy, but should be played right if one wants to win the game. George knows everything there is to know about chess, he’s played since he was a little kid and it never occurred to him that others have no idea how chess works, let alone of how much importance it is to play strategically. Nick just happily places his pieces all over without a second thought. George wants to let Nick win, he really does, but the way Nick plays is just so easily beatable.

“I have to take your queen,” George thinks out loud. He can’t move any of his other pieces. His only option, is the queen. So he takes her.

Then he hears it. A mumble. The ghost of a whisper, so close, yet so far away.

“You sure did.”

The words sound bitter and venomous. George looks up to see Clay with a pained look sewn onto his face.

“Sorry, what?”

“You heard me, prince George of Aerilon,” Clay sounds distant, far out of reach for George and he’s drifting further and further, “You sure did take his queen, not only his, all of ours.”

“It’s just a game, Clay,” he doesn’t like where the conversation is going, George starts to fumble nervously with his hands. He shoots Nick a look, but he shrugs his shoulders unknowingly.

“Stop lying to me,” Clay enunciates every word clearly, but George is unaware of the meaning of his words, “Stop lying to us, you know who killed my mother.”

Clay approaches George, who’s sitting still on the ground. He crouches down next to him, faces only centimetres apart.

“You know it was someone from Aerilon.”

“I- I didn’t, wait what? Clay I didn’t know!”

“If it wasn’t for your stupid kingdom and your dumb monarchs and laws that no one abides my mother would still be fucking alive.”

“Clay, please, what do you mean?” George realises he was begging. _Princes don’t beg, George_.

“You didn’t hear?” he scoffs, loud and obnoxious, “They found the killer, a traitor from the castle of Aerilon.”

“St-stop no that’s not, that’s a lie,” George’s cheeks start to stain with cold tears. He wants Clay to stop, he needs him to stop yelling.

“Fuck off, George, you and your entire family, get the fuck out of here and do not ever set foot in Woodhaerst again.”

“St-stop, stop please.”

But Clay doesn’t stop. Instead he raises his hand. George flinches. Clay’s hand hits the hard floor just beside where he’s seated at.

“Stop!” Nick finally manages to get out. He scrambles up and pushes his brother off of George. George’s eyes meet his, they both look dazed, both their eyes contain oceans of hurt, for entire different reasons.

Clay is frustrated and stands up angrily. The sudden movement shocks George to his core all over again. He leaves out the door, but not before slamming it.

Nick has stayed still the entire time besides George.

“I’m sorry he said that, he’s just mad,” Nick begins, but his voice trails off as he watches the closed door hopelessly.

“It’s okay, you can go after Clay, I’m just gonna, I’m going to find my brother.” And George lifts himself onto wobbly legs and leaves out the door first, only to get passed by a running Nick, shouting loudly for Clay.

George finds Wilbur in the castle’s garden. He hasn’t stop crying and normally he would be embarrassed for how much he’s crying, but he can’t find himself to care. He clamps onto Wilbur like his life depends on it.

“Wow, Gogy, what’s up?” Wilbur asks cheerfully, then he hears the sniffling, “Hey buddy, what happened?”

George shakes his head violently and tightens his grip even more.

“It’s okay, George, it’s okay, I’m not going anywhere just yet.”


	6. Menhir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George follows a wisp into the depths of a forest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been gone for a while, i know >.< BUT it is the longest chapter so far and im actually quite proud of it so i hope you all enjoy it!!
> 
> trigger warning for hallucinations, they appear in the sections between the three dots, be careful if youre uncomfortable with that!

**17 years old**

George was never one for fighting. Nor for confrontation. If he could live his life without ever having an argument, he would deem it successful. Of course, that’s not how it works when you are on bad terms with your best friend. Which is why George thought it appropriate to cut off contact with Clay entirely, almost two years ago now. He hadn’t seen Clay since. It must have been a few months since he last saw Nick as well.

So George often feels lonely. And George doesn't like feeling this way, so he turns to Wilbur. Wilbur and him have been close since the beginning of time, but nowadays Wilbur is busy training to be king, being first in line for the throne, and with that, George often ends up being alone either way. He reads, he sometimes helps a little in the garden. He simply wanders around.

George may not be the one for confrontation, but when he wanders, he thinks. A lot. He thinks of the times he was running around like a little kid with Clay and Nick. Of the times they celebrated the festival of lanterns together. The games they played and the words they spoke. His chest aches thinking back to those times. George hates that he still thinks about those days, but he sincerely can’t help himself. There have been times he wanted to go to Clay, apologise, beg for their friendship back, his chest would be so tight that he would have pleaded for Clay to come back. But George has pride, too much of it. He had done nothing wrong, even if Clay thought otherwise, it wasn’t his fault, so he wouldn’t apologise. It hurts, but George doesn’t seem to mind.

He finds himself wandering through the castle gardens as he thinks. The flowers are blooming, sprouting colours that George can’t quite see, but believes to be wonderful nonetheless.. Warm rays of sunshine flatter his skin, a soft breeze cools him back down. George imagines Clay standing across him, bathed in a golden light - clay holds his hand out to George and he finds himself reaching out. Water brims the edges of his eyes, George blames it on the wind. He shakes his head and chuckles lightly to himself. Clay had drifted so far away from him, George couldn’t even imagine what Clay actually looked like now. Maybe he had grown even taller, even stronger, probably prettier. Was that even possible? George had always thought Clay was pretty. The most radiant person in every room. Could even that have changed about him in only two years?

He wants to feel Clay’s presence again, right next to him. He wants to remember what his face looks like, the way he walks. George knows of two ways to do that. Either he finds Clay and apologises, or he finds his way to the place they met. He strongly favours the latter.

See, in the past few years, George had come to the lake quite often. It had stopped glowing, leaving behind a looming body of water with no life in it. But each time he goes there, his mind conjures powerful images of Clay. He hasn’t been there in a while, tired of missing someone long gone, but he figures today is the day he returns.

While humming a forlorn melody, George packs his bag. He’s unsure where he last heard the melody, it is just one that would return to him like clockwork on afternoons such as these, where he’s lonely and regretful. He rushes out his chamber and passes Wilbur quickly in the hall. He shouts after him, but George’s mind is occupied. So occupied, in fact, that George doesn’t take his horse. He sprints out of the city walls, heaving like a maniac and only then does he realise he could have made this whole situation easier on himself.

The sun lowers itself over the landscape, bringing peace and quiet. The darkness of the night no longer frightens George like it used to when he was just a kid, but he lights his lantern regardless. He wades through the forest, an early-spring frost bite nipping at his nose. He blows warm air into his hands, shivering slightly, George was expecting the weather to be warmer than this. A sound nearby catches him off guard.

A will-o’-the-wisp floats not 10 steps from him. It illuminates a soft blue light stretching no further than a couple trees ahead. It emits another soft sound and George cautiously shuffles closer to it. The wisp darts off further into the forest, as if it’s luring George, asking him to come with. He’s is hesitant, for good reason, for wisps could either bring you to your greatest treasure or your worst fate.

It calls to him again, faint and solemn and it reminds George of himself. George huffs a lock of hair out of his face. He straightens his back and breathes in and out a couple of times. He follows the wisp. He starts walking at a slow pace, but the wisp keeps rushing him and soon George is dashing through the forest, only narrowly avoiding the tree. A branch scratches the skin of his face and he falters, dropping his lantern accidentally and touching his skin with his bare shaking hands to find tiny droplets of blood sitting at the top of his fingers. He looks back up, eyes trying to find the wisp, but it hadn’t waited for him. George can only register an insubstantial blue light in the distance. He starts sprinting again, yelling at it.

“Wait! Wait for me!”

He bursts through the trees and encounters a field. The wisp floats in the middle of a circle made of menhirs. Standing stones, the common folk call them. George remembers reading about them in old history books. His fingers trail the rough material as he inspects the stone close by. There is nothing written on it, no symbols or runes. He turns back to the wisp, questions swirling in a pool of thoughts in his head.

His hand reaches out to it, wanting to grab it, touch it, swat it away. Instead, the wisp bursts out in a bright light, encompassing his surroundings, overtaking all his senses. George feels as though he can taste the light, hear it ringing in his ear. It’s loud and he crumbles down to his knees, hands clamped over his ears. George squeezes his eyes shut, dropping his head to his chest. He wants to beg for it to stop but the light has infiltrated his entire body, it is raging through his lungs and blood. All George can do is sit there as the light becomes one with him.

.

.

.

“George, c’mere.”

George closes his book and shuffles closer, “yeah?”

“Here, come sit next to me.”

Wilbur is looking intently at his own book, ancient and large, and points to a certain image. “Do you know what this is?”

George shakes his head, because in fact, he has no idea what he’s looking at.

“It’s a wisp,” Wilbur states.

“A wisp?”

“Yup.”

George sighs, feeling somewhat annoyed, “Wil, you know I don’t know what it is, just explain it to me.”

“Well to be honest, no one really knows what they are. They’re blue fire-y lights that float in the air. They loom in dark places, like forests and swamps and emit little sounds to attract your attention. They lure you with them, to some place, believed to be face you with your worst or best fate. Thing is, apparently not everyone can see them.”

“How come not everyone can see them?” George inquires as looks up at Wilbur. Wilbur isn’t looking back at him. He stares at the window straight ahead of him in the room, a smirk on his face.

“Wilbur..?”

Statically, Wilbur turns his face towards George again.

“Only people with magic blood can see them,” Wilbur speaks in a monotone voice, lowly, as if he’s spilling a secret, “Apparently only witches can, those dark evil bastards, with their corrupted minds are the only ones that can see them.”

George doesn’t reply and turns his head away, Wilbur doesn’t seem to be himself at this moment.

“Luckily, we are not magic, right George?” Wilbur laughs obnoxiously, “Right George? Plus, it’s not like magic exists in the first, a children’s fable, isn’t it, Geo-rgy,” he’s practically yelling at George, enunciating every word clearly like he is, indeed, a child.

At the nickname, he looks back to Wilbur, who’s looking back at him with completely black, soulless and unblinking eyes.

“Wil, please, are-are you okay?” George stammers a bit.

Wilbur opens his mouth to say something, but instead of words, his mouth emits a bright blue light that blinds George again.

He wakes up hearing someone yell at him once again.

“George! George please!” He hears someone plea, sniffling and sobbing in the mean time.

George sits upright and faces Clay, only a few steps away from him. His face is stained with tears as he’s begging George still. _For what? What are you begging me for, Clay?_

“Clay,” He steps a bit closer, “I’m okay, what’s happening? Can I help you with anything?” _Anything for you Clay_.

Clay stops his pleas, staring through the standing stones at the forest. He runs towards it. George scrambles up and runs after him.

“Stop! Clay wait for me, I’m right here!” He exhausts his voice, but Clay does not listen. Why does he never listen?

_STOP!_ , suddenly echoes through George’s mind, shrill and high pitched and the only thing he can think to do is to resound the noise.

“Clay STOP!”

And Clay stands still. He turns around to George, face neutral, body upright. George approaches him with caution and talks to him softly.

“It’s okay, Clay, whatever is happening, we- we can get through it together, okay?” He swallows, “you and me, together.”

He wraps his body around Clay’s as he’s done many times, but suddenly feels nothing. Clay had disappeared. George wails, his body crumbling in on itself and he falls to the ground with a thud. He can’t catch his breath, hyperventilating in a way he’s never done before. He needs help, he needs to get out of here. Blind panic overtakes his entire body. He stands up and runs but everything is turning around him and he can feel his entire body shaking and he still just can’t breathe and then..

Then his vision goes black again.

.

.

.

George opens his eyes, gasping for air, to an unfamiliar darkness and silence. He feels disoriented and nauseous. He staggers his way out of the circle of standing stones and he hurries himself back into the forest, stumbling with every step he makes. He needs to get out of there, as far away as possible from whatever the hell that was.

A thought occurs to him mid-run.

_The lake is glowing again_.

He shakes his head. _No, that can’t be. Lakes don’t glow, George._ But he can’t shake the feeling, he has to see it for himself.

In the distance, he can see it already. A similar glow to the one of the will-o’-the-wisp, but brighter and bigger, a radiant glow that cannot be mistaken for anything else. It seems like the lake is made of blue fire, droplets of water splashing up into the air and falling back, making sweet small sounds when breaking the surface of the water. George is enamoured. He sits by the shore and lets his hand wade through the slow stream. It’s warmer than he expected, warmer than the air he is in now. Thus, George decides to walk in it. The water is relatively shallow and slowly George walks through the lake. He looks at the wayward droplets splashing around him, giving off the tiniest bits of inconsistent light. It is simply breath-taking. George believes that this is what it feels like to be in love and he smiles to himself.

He manages to picture Clay again, in a misty cloud just above the water across from him. He looks at George with joy, his eyes are sparkling. George can’t help but smile back. That’s how he always wants to remember Clay. Happy; perfectly unsad. He wishes he could have been the cause of Clay’s happiness. The mist dissipates and George is left alone once again in a glowing lake.

But his mind stays with Clay. George remembers the first day he met Clay. He remembers standing in the middle of the lake and suddenly hearing someone call out to him. He remembers seeing Clay for the first time. He remembers, all of it, in vivid detail because how could he forget?

George works through the water until he stands where he stood that one day; right in the middle of the lake. The glow seems to be at its brightest here, he can’t even see the shore of the lake. But he hears a splashing sound that wasn’t there before. It’s quiet, as if something is trying to sneak away from under his nose. He turns towards the sound and walks to it with slow and cautious paces. His eyes can focus again, not being blinded by the light any longer. He catches the shadow of a person exiting the lake and just as they do, the lake turns dull again. George’s eyes need to adjust to the newfound darkness yet again. They need to do so more quickly because all George wants is to see the person the shadow belongs to. He stumbles towards the shore and sees the shadow one last time before it disappears into the night.

He stands still in the water. It didn’t feel warm anymore. It had turned cold and unwelcoming, but George can’t seem to move. He stays in place as he recounts what he just a saw. A shadow. Tall and lean. Light hair and young. A mask on. Golden eyes, bright golden eyes and suddenly George is sure. He knows what he saw, who he saw, even if it was only for a split second, maybe less. He laughs to himself, remaining in the lake still and drenched to the bone, at his own foolishness. George had fallen so deeply, that he only now noticed. He was in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also yes the 'perfectly unsad' is indeed a reference to heatwaves :)


	7. New day, new chances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George and Wilbur go to camp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome (back)! ive been super busy with school but ive finally written the next chapter! im really excited for this one bc im introducing 'new' characters! It's longer than usual, so take your time and enjoy :)

**17 years**

George hears the calling for his name, but has consciously chosen to ignore that. He stares up at the ceiling, drowning in unspoken thoughts. He supposes the carriage is already waiting for him downstairs; that Wilbur is already waiting. He doesn’t really care.

Or maybe he does, deep down, because George would hate ever disappointing his brother, but it feels like his mind just decided to stop working. It’s all fuzziness, like his mind can’t keep up with itself, trying to process whatever had been happening the past few days. He can’t work through it on his own, and he can’t speak about it to the person he would most want to. So he lets the fuzziness rage on, consuming his mind day and night. Alive, but not fully awake. 

A knock on his door startles him.

“Your Royal Highness?” a timid voice asks.

George grunts as a response and rolls over.

A knock can be heard again, “Your Highness, can I come in?”

And George wants to block out the voice, pretend it wasn’t there, but it wasn’t the voice’s fault.

“Yes, come in.”

Niki enters the room, eyes darting around the room.

“Have you not packed, my prince? You do know that your departure is today?”

_Yes,_ George thinks, _of course I am._

But he doesn’t reply, not to the question asked at least. “Where’s Tubbo?”

“Just down the hall, I’ll go grab him, your Highness.”

She bows and out the door she goes.

George looks at himself in the mirror. He looks like a mess, hair all over the place and sticking up in places it definitely should, dark circles under his eyes, skin pale as the moon. His hand traces his cheek; his fingertips feel frigid. He retracts his hand but keeps it close to his face, almost enjoying the cold sensation. His heart pumps just a little faster because of it and it breaks George out of his numb state; it makes him feel alive more than it should.

“Prince George, I am here at your service.”

George turns to the boy and gestures him to come closer.

“You can help me pack my things for my trip. You’re coming with me, so I hope you know what I will need.”

Tubbo nods and starts gathering George’s things, his armour and bow, books and quills. George is glad he has a squire, inconvenient tasks have been seeming to be much more bothersome lately than they should be. George doesn’t understand why, he doesn’t try to either.

He straps on his black leather tunic, a sword resting on his hip. He throws an embroidered blue cape over his shoulders and looks in the mirror one last time.

_Not bad._

_Not the best, but not bad_..

_..It’ll have to do_.

Tubbo seems to have gathered all his things, as he’s running in and out of the room with multiple heavily packed bags. He grabs the last one, metal clinking together, and he looks to George.

“Are you ready?”

_No_. “Yes.”

He walks through the halls, down the stairs, one last time. George knows; he’s not dumb. He knows he won’t be going home for a little longer than everyone has been telling him. He walks through the door and looks back, one last time. The hall looks golden from where he’s standing, the staircase is elegant, a grand chandelier hangs above it. A few statues stand at the bottom of the stairs, paintings decorate the walls. The atmosphere is calm and royal and his heart hurts just a little at the thought of not seeing this place for the next couple of months. But George figures he has to stop pondering.

Right before the carriages stand his father and mother. His father looks stoic, uninterested, staring into the empty void as if the whole ordeal means nothing to him. His mother looks sombre. George walks up to her and she envelops him into a warmth only mothers can. She whispers him a soft _good luck_ and then slowly lets go.

George walks to his father. He doesn’t invite George to a hug. He nods to him, not even offering the faintest of a smile. George straightens his back automatically and nods back. He walks to the carriage and halts just before it, turning around to see Tubbo stumbling just outside the gate with a bag twice his size. He sees his mother holding his father’s hand, he sees flowers and other plants climbing up the walls of the place he calls home. He turns back to the carriage and gets in, sitting right next to Wilbur. Wilbur smiles at him, squeezes his thigh softly before returning his gaze back to the window. George’s nerves settle down again, because Wilbur is there and that means it’ll all be okay.

He can’t wait to go back home.

But first, camp.

“Welcome,” a beat of silence, “to training camp.”

George looks around the hall and finds that he is surrounded by people around his age.

_Not just people_ , he thinks, _royalty_.

In honour of future unity, current monarchs have sent their first and second in lines to a camp of sorts. Here, they’ll be trained in etiquette and fighting skills. One can choose to learn new skills, such as cooking or brewing, while creating opportunities for new bonds and alliances. Never has there been a gathering quite like this one and George doesn’t like it one bit. Too many important people in one enclosed space. Too many people to begin with. Hushed whispers reach everywhere around him and George feels as though they are speaking of him. He shuffles closer to Wilbur. Wilbur looks to him with a comforting look and easily throws his arm around George’s shoulder.

“In these halls, you will find areas designated for improving certain skills. All of you will begin with a common hand to hand combat. Once you complete this course, you may manoeuvre yourself throughout these halls however you like.”

The group is guided to another space like a horde of sheep. A few mats cover the floor, dummies with targets on them, dummies with spikes to spar with. On the side stand shelves that reach almost as high as the ceiling. George notices some blood spatters on them.

In the middle of the room stands a man. Quite tall, blonde hair. He gestures for the group to come closer.

“Princesses and princes, in this hall, you will all be considered as equal, you will all be seen as students. And I,” he smirks, proudly, “will be your trainer, at least in the area of combat. I will assign each of you a partner to spar with.”

George rubs his arm uncomfortably. He wasn’t the worst fighter, but he was definitely not as good as some of the others in the room. He looks around the group and sees only a few recognisable faces. Nick stands taller than he remembers, upright and proud. Next to him stands someone George can only assume is Clay. He has grown, a lot. George can see his muscles even through the fabric of his outfit. His hair has gotten a bit darker, and sits on his head in a small bun. It almost angers George, how Clay stands there as if nothing had changed as if-

“George!”

He snaps back to reality.

“You are partnered with Alex.”

_Alex._

George sighs.

_I have no idea who Alex is._

Hopelessly he looks around, trying to figure out who the hell this Alex is. He sees Clay is already partnered with someone else. _But that’s not just anyone else, George._ Clay, it seems, is partnered with Wilbur. Similar builds, first lines and all that. George feels a spike of jealousy before he pushes it right back down. _Clay isn’t even your friend anymore._ Finally he manages to tear his eyes away from the sight and he catches a guy looking at him expectantly.

George walks to him and bows shortly.

“Can I rightfully assume you’re Alex?”

“Hell yeah man!” he doesn’t bow back, instead enthusiastically shakes George’s hand, “which kingdom you from?”

His bluntness catches George off guard for a bit, no prince talks that way surely.

“I’m.. I’m prince George, second in line from Aerilon.”

He doesn’t stop smiling at George, “Great to meet you! I’m Alex, second in line from Hythe!”

George figures his behaviour makes sense then. Hythe lays in the far north and while he hasn’t been there personally, he has heard stories.

He’s also glad to note that he and Alex are roughly the same height.

“Do you uhm, do you have a lot of fighting experience?” he suddenly seems insecure, vulnerable, a stark contrast to his earlier appearance.

And George just shakes his head because he honestly did _not_ like fighting. “I do not, we’ll just learn from each other, okay?”

They stand opposite of each other, hands and arms close to their chest, legs locked in a steady position.

Alex advances with three quick steps. George narrowly avoids a punch in the head. He takes a few steps back. Alex follows him and yet again reaches out. George has to use his arm to redirect the punch and pushes Alex back slightly. He stumbles but regains his composure quickly. It catches George’s eye. Alex’s balance seems to be off. He takes a step towards him. Another one. Alex takes a step back. George strides forward and quickly sweeps his leg. Alex falls onto the mat back first, a soft landing.

He’s laughing.

“Dude I thought you said you couldn’t fight for shit?”

And he has to admit, George is a much better fighter than he initially thought he would be. “I honestly don’t know where that came from,” he shrugs and pulls Alex back up on his feet.

“You have got to teach me the leg sweeping thing, surely it’ll be useful to at least like trip my brother.”

When they stand opposite of each other again, George teaches Alex. Teaches may not be the right word, George barely knows what he’s doing himself, but he shows Alex anyways.

At some point it stops being them actually trying and it turns into them trying to annoy each other playfully. They’re unaware of all the sounds they’re making, all their laughs that are disturbing others in the room. For a second George looks at Wilbur and Wilbur looks at him and winks, before going back to training and George feels so comfortable, as he’s rolling around the mat, play fighting and tickling Alex.

“What are you two doing?”

Their heads snap back up, facing their trainer. He looks with a straight face at the two. Alex and George scramble back to their feet and George knows his etiquette and he bows. Alex imitates him, less elegant, more hurried.

“Sorry,” and George hesitates, because he actually has no idea what his trainer is called. He looks to side but Alex shrugs as if he had read George’s mind.

“Punz, you can call me Punz.”

“Sorry, Punz,” the two mumble in unison.

He nods to them. “Come to the middle mat, since you have no training to complete apparently, you can show the rest of the group your amazing skills.”

Punz is already walking to the middle. Alex is following him but George pulls him back by his sleeve.

“Are you nuts? We can’t fight in front of everyone! We can’t fight in front of anyone!”

“C’mon George, it’ll be cool, we’ll just do what we did the first time,” is all Alex responds, before dragging George along with him.

_It’ll all be cool._

The trainer is tapping his foot against the floor as he’s waiting for them.

_Oh my god, Clay is here._

George braces himself for the upcoming embarrassment and stands on the mat, back in front of Alex.

_Clay is going to see me do this lame ass kick after not having seen me in the past 2 years_.

_Fantastic_.

He doesn’t look into the crowd to find Clay, he knows everyone is looking at him anyways. Alex and him are circling each other. Arms close to their chests again. Alex nods and stretches his arm and much like the first time, George is able to dodge the punch. A punch comes his way again and he redirects it to his side easily. Alex steps back. George follows him. A few more paces forward and George uses his leg to sweep Alex’s. But it doesn’t. In fact, Alex barely budges, standing still as a stone, while George is the one stumbling and falling literally against Alex’s body. The sudden weight makes Alex buckle and the two fall down to the mat for hopefully the last time that day. George doesn’t dare look into the crowd, afraid of how everyone will be looking at him. He wishes he could fall through the floor right now. He doesn’t. Instead, his trainer just tells everyone to continue and to take whatever they’re doing seriously.

His head hangs low as he walks away from the middle arena and George makes his way to the door with quick paces. He walks quicker the more he feels tears welling up and he tries to wipe them away without anyone noticing, but his head already feels red and he’s sure that anyone nearby can guess that he is crying. The last few meters before he reaches the door he sprints, he needs to get out of there as quick as he can. He runs through somewhat small corridors, bursts open another door and finally he can breathe.

He lets the fresh air flow through his lungs as its coolness calms him down. George wants to walk on further but his legs fail to take him anyways so George falls against one of the trees and lets himself slide down until he sits there, like a five-year-old boy with his knees to his chest, desperately trying to not let the whole ordeal mean this much to him.

An arm is slung around his shoulder.

“Wil, please just leave me alone, go- go back inside.”

“Sorry to disappoint.. but I’m not Will.”

“Alex!” George exclaims in utter surprise as he looks to the guy sitting right next to him.

Alex chuckles softly, “Don’t be too surprised now, George. I’m not just gonna let you have this sob fest all on your own.”

George laughs silently as he wipes the tears away from his eyes.

“Was pretty brutal out there, huh?” Alex pushes their shoulders together and rests his head against the tree right behind them, “I bet all the girls have fallen in love with our amazing skills.”

And George laughs again. Louder and much more unexpected. “Yeah with all those charms we had there, amazing balance, great punches,” he retaliates, sniffling only a little between words.

“Oh man, the greatest punches.”

Their laughter dies down into soft chuckles and Alex stands up, reaching out a hand to George.

“Come on, George, you can’t let me go back in their alone.”

George looks at his surroundings. He looks at the trees and plants, all in blossom. The sky above him is a bright blue and the sun casts upon him a soft spring light. A soft breeze takes the last of his tears away and George takes Alex’s hand and lets himself be pulled up. They walk back together through the corridors, talking about nothing in particular but it eases George’s heart.

Back in the hall, they apologise to Punz for running out, who soon after declares that their training for today is done.

“Tomorrow we’ll be doing the same thing, same duo’s. I will be helping those that need it the most,” he looks to Alex and George as he speaks his final words. Alex stifles a laugh.

The group walks through the corridors together, like an actual class just being dismissed by their teacher. In front walk two girls enthusiastically speaking to one another. Just behind them, Wilbur is speaking to another girl. Alex is walking next to him, but he’s talking to another guy. George doesn’t know him. He realises he doesn’t know the lot of these people and he makes a promise to himself to remember all their names before the end of the week. George realises he doesn’t see Clay and he looks behind him. Quite a distance behind him walks a tall figure, hands in his pockets, head facing down. He’s speaking nonchalantly to someone else, and then he looks up, right at George. George feels his breath halting for just a minute, he feels his entire body stopping for just a bit.

Clay looks pissed.

Pissed at him?

George doesn’t really know why Clay would still be pissed at him but he doesn’t know why else he would be looking at him with such a venomous look in his eyes.

“Hey, George, we’re going to grab something to eat, you joining us?” Alex suddenly asks and George turns back to him, confused.

“We?”

“Yeah, me and Karl,” Alex gestures to the guy beside him, “You coming?”

_Ah, so that’s Karl._

_At least that’s one less name I’ll have to learn_.

“Sure, if Karl doesn’t mind.”

“Of course not, the more, the merrier!” Karl chirps.

The trio separates themselves from the rest of the group and finds their way to the town Myrefall. The town is situated in one of the largest kingdoms to exist, Ozryn. Ozryn is a mountainous region, with spruce woods covering large parts of the lands. Their training camp lies at the foot of a hill. Myrefall lays on top of it. It’s quite the climb, with quite a spectacular view. George figures he at least won’t be failing his stamina test.

“What if-“ Karl breathes, “What if one day, people could fly up mountains such as this one, so no one,” he exhales harshly, “has to go through this ever again.”

Alex laughs, but doesn’t respond, and George hears that his lungs aren’t having the greatest time either.

George notices that it’s getting darker and he looks back to see that the sun would be setting soon. “Guys! Hurry up, come with me to that rock!” he points excitedly and starts climbing a tad faster.

“How the hell-“ Alex starts.

Karl finishes his sentence for him as Alex catches his breath again, “Does he still have the capacity to run?”

“Guys come on!”

It’s not as much of a rock as it is just a small cliff. George sits on the edge off it, legs dangling in the air. Alex plops down on his right, a few seconds later Karl sits down on his left.

The sun casts a golden light on them as it sinks further into the horizon. The clouds drift by at a slow pace. A last bright flash of a yellow-golden light can be seen as the sun disappears completely, the wind picks up as it does and it reminds George of home.

“Well that was very pretty, but I’m still incredibly hungry,” and Karl gets up with Alex and they continue their climb to the top. They’re already almost there, it can’t be more than a 10-minute climb.

Something compels George to stay still a bit longer. He hears the wind blow softly around his ears. He looks out into the landscape. He can see their training camp. It really can’t be described as an ordinary camp. A building made of logs and stone stands in the middle, while smaller cabins stand deeper within the forest. Someone started a small fire, close to the main building. He thinks that maybe Clay started it. He shakes his head and laughs. That’s not just a matter of maybe, he’s fairly certain only Clay would start a fire like that in such a dense forest. He gets up and turns to Karl and Alex, seeing them stumble slightly as they fight their way up the steep hill. George feels a happy bubbly feeling at the bottom of his stomach.

“Alex!”

He laughs to himself.

“Karl!”

George can’t believe he’s here right now, with these people, after only having known them for a day.

“Guys!”

_If camp stays like this, I never want to leave_.

“Wait for me!”


	8. Reconciliation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George speaks to Nick, then confronts Clay about their past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back again :) Can't believe I managed to write this right before the end of January. It's a long chapter, or at least to me it is, so take your time and enjoy!
> 
> TW, be aware that this chapter deals with alcohol and being under the influence of it! Take care

**17 years old**

George makes a pass forward, landing a vertical hit with his staff on his trainer’s right side. He ducks away from an incoming hit, spins around his trainer and sweeps his legs from right under him. George wins the fight.

Punz looks to him with the smallest of smiles. “Your training has paid off.”

It has, indeed. George had become more agile and confident in his combat skills. Hand to hand was not his strong suit and he doubts it ever will be, but over the course of only a couple of weeks, his staff fighting had become acceleratingly better. It makes George feel good about himself, there’s finally something that distinctively defines him. He’s known as the prince that can handle a staff, could defeat most of the other trainee’s in combat with it. George’s shoulders seem to straighten themselves with pride.

He makes his way through the halls to the nearest bathroom. The building is quite empty, quiet. Every first in line is learning particular etiquette that George should hope to never learn. Alex is first in line and George finds himself bored a bit by his absence. But then again, maybe some peace and quiet is good for him.

The door to the bathroom stands ajar and George steps in, quickly lets out what he’s been holding in and walks to the sink. The cold water rinses any sweat from his hands as George stares at himself in the mirror. There’s no barber near the camp, nor the need to cut hair. His hair sits longer and curlier than he remembers it ever being, and George quite likes it being dishevelled. He turns the tap off again and dusts his hands off.

He reaches his hand out to push open the door, but his hand never comes in contact with the hard surface. In front of him stands someone else.

“Oh, George, sorry, hope I didn’t interrupt anything,” Nick trails off.

His heart feels warm upon seeing Nick so close again. “No apologies needed.” Since camp started, neither had initiated any conversation with Clay constantly being around. George was afraid Nick, too, would be mad at him for whatever reason. But Nick stands in front of him, hunched forward, hands in his pockets and even though he’s already taller than George and he looks just like a kid. _He is just a kid, George_.

“Was just on my way to get some food, want to join?”

And George can see Nick stifling a smile right before telling him, “Yeah, would be pretty great actually.”

George leads the way to his little cabin a little deeper into the woods. It’s small, decorated with mushrooms and overall quite cosy.

“Love what you’ve done with the place, it’s very you,” Nick thinks out loud, “very clean, too, can’t remember my cabin not having a layer of dust on every little surface.”

George chuckles at that, because he remembers small Nick never really caring about the space he lives in and now that image can live forth with a more matured version of his childhood friend. “Why does that not surprise me at all?”

“You just know me, George,” he answers softly.

George doesn’t know what to do with a remark like that, alluding to their collided past, one that George has yet to figure out. So George deflects. “Want tea? Biscuits?”

“Just biscuits.”

The two slip into familiar banter, easy jokes. George feels at ease again with Nick, like everything that happened between the two, had never taken place. Like the ocean of distance between the two had closed again the moment George opened the bathroom door. But George is dying to ask and he knows that Nick is waiting for it too.

“How is uhm,” George swallows thickly, “how has, you know, how-“

Nick cuts him off. “Clay’s been okay.”

George leans just a bit closer, encouraging Nick to go on, to just talk a bit more.

“It’s been kinda rough, what with all that happened with our mom, many sleepless nights, many wordless days. I think I got over it faster than he did though. At some point it was like all he could ever feel was a bitter darkness, “ Nick breathes shallowly. That’s how George knows it is still a sensitive topic. He has many more questions, so many answers he still needs, but now is not the time.

“But he’s better now. And so are you. That’s all that matters.” George speaks his words with a hint of uncertainty, he doesn’t exactly know if Nick is doing better. Regardless of that, he gives Nick a soft pat on the back, a small act of encouragement, telling him that he’s there for him. “We should be going back now though, the day is far from over.”

Nick agrees with him and two walk in silence through the overgrown path that leads to back to the middle of the camp.

Right before they enter the sylvan building, George hears loud chatter rolling over the lands, a soft wind accompanies the noise. A crowd emerges from the woods, George sees Wilbur and he smiles to him. He sees Clay, but he averts his gaze. He sees Alex and he waves to him with grand gestures and runs to him even as Alex pretends he doesn’t know the waving idiot in front of him.

“Welcome back!”

“I was gone for a fucking day, George.”

“And I’ve never missed you more.”

Alex exclaimed overdramatically. “You had Karl!”

_Oh my god._ George realises. “Oh my god,” he mumbles, “I forgot about Karl?” he states it as if it’s a question, but the answer is already clear.

“Right so I realise I’m the one that keeps this group together, George, but when I’m gone, I promise you, you’re allowed to annoy Karl instead of me.”

“I’ll make it up to him, give him a ‘shroom or something.”

“A shroom,” Alex deadpans, “Please never speak to me again.”

“No, come on,” George drags out his syllables, “you know you love me anyways.”

It’s giggles from there on, until George finds Clay staring at him and falls silent, stiffening where he stands. His gaze is intense and focused. He seems to realise George is staring right back at him because he turns away and paces back into the building.

.

.

.

Only a few weeks ago, George told Alex about him and Clay. About the way they met, that night, near a fluorescent lake, the way they somehow managed to stay friends even though there were huge differences between the two.

George tells Alex stories late at night, after their set curfew as they wander through the forest. He tells him about the times him and Clay would go swimming together, or horse riding, or when they played dumb games.

He in fact trusts Alex so much, that he tells him of the day of their fall out.

Alex tells him that he doesn’t understand why Clay got mad at George in the first place.

George, in turn, tells him he doesn’t know either.

It just happened.

.

.

.

George doesn’t want to go inside yet. He doesn’t feel ready, prepared in any way to go back to training. He reminds himself that he doesn’t have to. A frisk wind keeps him sane. The wind picks up and whispers the name back into his memory.

_Karl._

It’s exactly what he needs.

The trio back together.

_Even though we’ve been together literally every other day._

He can’t help it. The three of them simply work. Like they’re singular instruments together forming an orchestra, parts of a whole. George can laugh freely with them, without a care in the world.

“Let’s find Karl.”

Easier said than done.

The building isn’t particularly large, but there are many rooms, corners and corridors one could hide away from the world. George figures he could use some help.

“Wilbur! Seen Karl around?”

“Lost a friend?”

“Shut up, have you seen him?”

“Yeah, I think I saw him around the brewing stations,” George can taste the disapproval lying on Wilbur’s tongue.

“Great, thanks Wil.”

“Just don’t, you know, don’t do that stuff yourself, yeah?”

“Wil.”

“I know, I know you’re practically an adult but stuff like that, brewing with all those supernatural ingredients, there must be a reason only witches brew, George.”

“Wil, I’ll be fine.”

“Geo-“

“I gotta go now, bye!” He cuts him off and leaves to the brewing stations, yelling for Alex to join him again.

In dim lights, they see Karl’s face focussed on a particular brewing stands. He uses a tube to put some sort of glowing liquid together with another purple liquid. George has no knowledge of brewing, anything that could even slightly be related to magic, as he has been sheltered from his entire life, but Karl makes it seem incredibly fascinating.

The two liquids splash together, floating around in each other until they mingle completely, leaving one glowing purple stew behind. Karl uses a loop to look closer, inspect things that the human eye couldn’t normally see. He seems satisfied, jotting down notes.

“Karl, my man!” Alex disrupts the focus Karl had peacefully settled himself in.

“Hey! I thought you had training today?”

George realises there aren’t any windows close to this place. “What time do you think it is?”

“Like noon?”

“Nope, more like 6 hours after noon.”

“Wow really? I’ve just been super busy with brewing this super special potion, I think I almost got the recipe down and might’ve gotten lost in time,” Karl turns to George and he exclaims, “George I’m sorry for forgetting you, you must have been so lonely!”

“Oh my god you have got to be kidding me.”

“Wait wait wait, so George forgot about Karl. Karl forget about George and me. Remind me why I’m friends with you both.”

“Alex I didn’t- wait George forgot about me?!”

“I was gonna get you something to apologise but Alex told me it was lame!”

“’T was a fucking shroom George.”

“Dear God, okay, George, thank you for… I don’t even know, the thought? I just gotta finish up some stuff here with the stands, help me?”

“George will help you,” Alex says, as he starts backing out, “I got some uh, some other stuff to finish up around here, okay?”

And before either Karl or George can protest, Alex has disappeared.

“Guess it’s just you and me.”

“Get me a new bottle, please?”

“You’re just using me,” George feigns hurt, as he walks to a cupboard, rummaging through it to find a clear bottle. Karl is flipping through a book, folding the corners of some pages, eyes speeding over the words. He seems to be in his element, at home.

George finally finds a box of bottles and holds one up to Karl. “This one good?”

Karl nods and George places the bottle beside the stand and sits down on a stool, close to the action. Karl writes in symbols, an alphabet George isn’t familiar with. He works with steady and confident hands, calculated moves. He cuts up a sort of plant in tiny blocks, a blue leaf crushed in a stone grinder. He mumbles softly, to himself probably and George tries to figure out what he says, but he doesn’t really understand. When he stops speaking, he adds the tiniest bit of a white extract. It instantly emits a white glow. The liquid moves as though it is alive, filled with tiny sparkles, stars. A current moves within, dragging the stars along with it. Karl stirs a few times and nods determinedly.

“What kind of potion is it?”

“An illusion inducing potion. It creates a type of vision that shows you your biggest and wildest dreams.”

“It’s so pretty.”

“It is, yeah, but it can drive people to a depressive and mad state. Seeing your biggest dreams, your uncovered desires can unravel something within someone,” Karl speaks with a light tone, as if the content of his words was not grave. He puts a cap on the bottle and places it somewhere in a glass exhibit.

George is about to say something, but a loud crash close to them interrupts them.

They rush to the combat area and there, Alex and Clay stand opposite of each other, aggressive stances, mean faces.

At the intrusion, Clay turns to George. His balance his off, his coordination seems off.

“Hey look at me when I’m talking to you,” Alex pushes Clay back slightly, demanding his attention, Clay stumbles a little, “Don’t you ever, ever talk about him that way again, yeah?”

Clay throws his head back and George hears a broken a laugh, the sound is remarkably close to a sob.

Clay turns to George again, “This,” he almost falls over, “this is the bitch you replaced me with?”

George’s imagination makes him remember the old Clay. He remembers the light in Clay’s eyes, the freckles dusted on his cheeks and nose, a cocky smile always there as if it was plastered on for good. He remembers Clay telling George that the clothes he was wearing were bright green clothes, not the gold or yellow George had been seeing. He remembers when Clay’s hair was short and fluffy, a sweet blond that sat around his soft face.

All of that was gone. His qualities had hardened. His jaw sits tight and his eyebrows are screwed together. His eyes no longer hold galaxies. Instead, they hold dim, flickering lights, barely seen by the human eye. His freckles have faded, there was no more smile.

“This, this is what you abandoned me for?”

“Stop,” George takes a step back.

Clay huffs, “After all these years, I have to come here and find out I was just that easily replaceable to you?”

“Clay, you’re clearly not sober, stop,” George tries to sound resolute.

Clay moves even closer to him, “Guess me and Nick just didn’t mean shit to you, oh so glorious prince George.”

George takes a step back.

“Good prince George that never missteps, always does what he’s told. You know what George?”

“What.”

“You sound more like a little fucking princess to me. An eenie weenie, little-“

Clay falls the ground, cutting off his sentence and finally George breathes again. Karl puts an arm around his shoulder, Alex, too, hurries to his side.

“George, are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine,” George hesitates before he suggests an idea, “You guys can go along, I need to sort some stuff out, I think.”

“Hey, no way in hell am I leaving you with this prick,” Alex speaks defensively. Karl agrees with him.

“It’s really okay, me and him, a conversation is long overdue.”

“Eenie weenie little princess Geor-“ Alex pushes him onto the ground before he can finish his sentence.

Karl searches contact with George again and realises that George wasn’t going to budge. “As soon as you’re done, come to me okay? Me and Alex’ll be waiting for you.”

“Thanks.”

George’s eyes follow Alex and Karl as they make their way to the door. They turn to him one last time and he nods, and they leave out the door, closing it softly.

George breathes in.

And out.

In again.

Then he turns around. Clay is standing up, close to the wall, looking at one of the stands that hold wooden swords for training.

“Put the sword down, Clay.”

“Whatchu gonna do about it?” he slurs his words.

Effortlessly, George pulls the sword from his hands places it back into the stand. As protest, Clay moves away and leans against one of the walls, ultimately sliding down until he sits down, limbs numb.

“Why are you here?”

Clay doesn’t respond to him, instead looks up at the ceiling, suddenly amazed by the woodwork.

“Clay I’m serious, you can’t just- you can’t just waltz in here and yell at Alex, then at me and then expect everything to be fine.”

Clay tilts his head back to George, a doe-faced expression on his face. It frustrates George.

“You’re just going to stay quiet like that? Got nothing to say for yourself?”

“M sorry about that,” a soft voice confesses.

“Are you- wait what?”

Clay tries to get up before he speaks again, but his body is not coordinating with him. “I’m sorry,” he speaks again.

“You don’t have to tell me that anymore, tell it to Alex, and to Karl, they didn’t deserve to hear that, they aren’t used to people yelling at them.”

And Clay looks to him, finds new motivation to get up and with some grunts, heavy breathing and almost falling over twice, he stands close to George again. Sadness ties his eyebrows together and waters the brims of his eyes. “What do you mean you’re used to it?”

George swats him away, Clay stumbles back a few steps and turns he turns back on him. “None of your business, just- just apologise to them, okay?”

He’s about to leave, but a hand is placed on his shoulder. He turns around and there stands Clay, close to him again, as if there had never been a distance to begin with. “Don’t leave,” he whispers.

Tears cloud his vision and his mind as he feels his heart exploding into a million colours. He stays there as Clay snakes his arms around George and holds him tight. “I’m so sorry, okay, you’ve got to believe me George, you have to,” his voice is muffled and sniffs cut his sentences short but George understands him, loud and clear.

“You can’t just do this, Clay,” he doesn’t understand why Clay’s emotions have switched up all of the sudden, the confusion rings loudly within him, “Not this way, things can’t be fixed like this, when you’re drunk. You can’t just think that one lousy apology is going to fix everything, because you hurt me, and my friends and I can’t, I can’t deal with that right now.”

With painstakingly slow movements, George removes Clay’s hands from his body and lets them drop next to his own. Clay drops back down to his knees and George believes this is the first time he’s seen Clay’s cheeks as tear-stained as they are now. “George, please, stop, don’t-“

“I’ll see you soon again, Clay.”

He starts walking to the door as Clay keeps telling him to stop, to come back, to stay. It feels like Clay knows just what ties are attached to his heart. He turns back to him and looks at the mess of a human being he was leaving behind. Clay sits on his knees, head hanging in his hands and no matter how much George wants to leave him right now, he knows he can’t. He’s like a moth attracted to a bright flickering flame. No matter how bad it burns, he’ll always come back.

George hesitantly shuffles back and crouches down to Clay’s level, using his hand to tilt Clay’s chin back up. Clay looks up to him with wonderful, innocent eyes. He searches Clay’s face and sighs.

“Want some water?”

The boy nods to him and George helps him back up, walking with him to one of the public kitchens. Pieces of metal clang together whenever Clay moves his legs, reminding George that he’ll have to help Clay get out of his remaining armour. With some cooperation of Clay, George hoists his body up on one of the counters. He makes sure Clay isn’t about to fall over if he sits by himself and when he’s sure Clay is secure, George grabs a glass, filling it with water and sets it down next to Clay’s thigh. Clay looks at the glass, but doesn’t initiate any movement.

“Clay you gotta drink the water for it to help,” he whispers to him.

In response Clay grunts and flops his arms clumsily.

_Guess I’m feeding you the water then_.

He stands in between Clay’s legs and places the glass to Clay’s mouth and he parts his lips slightly. George can’t help but note how soft they look. He tilts the glass upwards and the liquid slowly falls into Clay’s mouth. Clay starts a small coughing fit and George immediately places the glass back down on the counter, rubbing gentle circles onto his back, his other hand squeezing Clay’s thigh tightly. His breath evens out again, but George doesn’t pull away.

Instead, he softly lays his forehead against Clay’s, noses touching.

“Are you going to remember any of this in the morning?”

“M not sure,” Clay mumbles.

_Now or never._

“I- I’m sorry, Clay.”

“What for?”

“Not being there when you needed me the most, I was so confused and- and so, so mad at you for lashing out at me and I figured, I figured it was time for us to part ways, that you wouldn’t want me around anymore- because you left,” George takes a deep breath, a weight lifted from his shoulders, but he wasn’t done just yet, “But I am still mad at you. You hurt me with what you said then, that it was somehow my fault, because I believed you! You were always the smarter one, you were always right, so how could you be wrong about that? It hurt because I trusted you more than I trusted myself,” he stops his rant in a hushed tone.

Clay nods to him, showing him he’s listening and tugs a loose strand of hair back behind his ear. “I understand, George.”

“Do you really?” his voice is shaky.

And Clay nods again, thoughtfully. “I do, at least I think I do. I’m sorry I had to hurt you that way. I’m sorry for the way I always act on my impulses, never thinking twice about my actions.”

“We were just kids, I suppose.”

“We still are, George, we still are kids and I’m still trying to learn, you have to believe me when I say that.”

“I think.. I think I do believe you, Clay,” George feels as though he’s about to burst in flames being this honest with Clay, “I think your intentions are good, but our past actions do have repercussions. We could have been so much together, you and I, before we fell apart. If none of that had happened, we would have been so different, it would have been so lovely if things had been different. But they’re not. How do we forgive ourselves for the things we could not become?”

“We can work on it.”

“Can we?”

“It’s you and me, George, we can always try.”

“That is, if your memory doesn’t fail you after this night,” a sudden harsh tone leaves George’s mouth. He takes a step back, away from Clay’s warmth, truly realising the position the two of them are in. George doesn’t know what sober Clay wants the two of them to be, whether only drunk Clay wants them to be something more.

“Come back,” Clay mutters to him, curling in on himself, “I’m cold.”

A sudden breeze finds it’s way into the kitchen, a window had flown open. When George reaches up to close it, he hears the wind whispers into his ears. _Stop, put an end to this,_ it tells him. “To what?” he asks in return. The wind only picks up and tells him to stop, over and over until it is the only thing he can hear until he slams the window shut again. Clay lets out a startled shriek and George hears a crash behind him. Clay lays on the floor, barely holding himself up with his arms.

“Let’s get you to bed now.”

Clay seems to be quite done with talking, only silently protests when George gets him back up on his feet. George helps him through the candle lit corridor, over the pathways leading to his cabin. He rattles the handle to open the door to Clay’s cabin, but it won’t budge.

“Clay do you know where your key is?”

An answer of slurred together words further and George still isn’t quite sure where the key to the door is. It’s late, way past their set curfew and George has to get Clay inside soon.

A last idea pops into his mind.

He drags Clay along to his own cabin, still unlocked and George takes Clay to his bed. Before he lets Clay lie down, George takes off the last pieces of his armour, some shin protectors, as well as a broken gauntlet that Clay always seems to keep on his hand. Without this exoskeleton made of armour, Clay automatically collapses like a sack of potatoes on the bed, he curls himself around the blankets, a content look on his face as his mind immediately drifts further into sleep.

There’s no more room for George to sleep and while he doubts he could fall asleep to begin with, he would like to rest. He closes the door behind him softly as he steps back into the open air, walking to Karl’s cabin. He feels the brisk wind on his skin again, but has no energy left to listen to it. He quickly finds Karl’s place and enters, perhaps with too much noise. He finds Alex fast asleep on the tiny sofa and Karl sitting up in his bed, diligently writing in a notebook, illuminated by a soft night light. He looks to George with a questioning face as he pats the space on the bed right beside him. George lays down there and hugs his pillow tightly, wishing sleep would wash over him soon.

“Georgie, are you okay?”

George doesn’t look at Karl, he doesn’t wish to see his concerned face right now. He nods into the pillow, hoping Karl can take the hint as he squeezes his eyes shut.

Sleep doesn’t come until after Karl hums a soft melody to him. A melody he recognises but can’t quite place.

It reminds him of home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of dialogue, I'm gonna try to make it less of a script next chapter but many things just needed to be discussed this chapter :]


End file.
